3rd person poetry
gazellemon
Bradley J
Forum Posts: 372
Bradley J
Fire of Insight
6
Joined 6th Mar 2014Forum Posts: 372
Poetry Contest Description
please submit one poem written about yourself in the 3rd person.
this should be interesting
good luck!
good luck!
Jade-Pandora
jade tiger
Forum Posts: 5134
jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
154
Joined 9th Nov 2015 Forum Posts: 5134
GOING BACK IN TIME
Introspective, on this night,
Jade settles, drifting in her mind
To take a sentimental stroll
Through old family mementos.
Finding images that show
When she was hardly big at all,
Visiting great-great-Aunt Ro'
Who lived so very near the pier.
Wooden stairway, painted white
With rails on either side of it,
That lead up to an open porch,
Fronting by a clapboard house.
Built before the nineteen-tens,
How loud the screen door creaked back when
She came to visit with her mom
The last time that Jade saw her.
The rooms were dimly lit within,
And always kept neat as a pin.
Stretched across, she could recall
The scratchy music clearly heard,
A distant echo all alone
Coming from a paneled hall:
🎶You may not be an angel,
But still I'm sure you'll do,
So until the day that one comes along,
I'll string along with you...🎶
Polished floors & ceilings, shone,
Where seagull shadows always'd flown,
From light of windows, opened
At the back of the house, ended.
The parlor, with its faded grace,
For Jade, the very best of all,
The youthful glee upon her face,
Wide-eyed, and still so very small.
Though she was tall enough to look
Through beveled cabinets of glass,
And see the treasures on display
That laid among the leather books.
The china dolls with bee-sting lips,
And silky, finger-wave of curls,
Tiny worlds in miniature,
The clothes & doll house furniture.
Crystal perfume bottle scents,
Still holding their amber remnants
Of parties, plays & dinner dates,
Corsage, from a beau long ago.
A medal, and some ribbons too,
Laid by her dead son's baby shoes,
The one who'd worn them years before
He died; the war to end all wars.
Hand-drawn & painted souvenirs
From Rio, Rome & old Tangiers.
Then, on the roof Jade hears rain fall,
The tumbledown of thunder's squall.
Breakers soon churn up the beach,
Drowning music out of reach.
Jade can't hear it anymore,
The gulls have all flown into shore.
Once the shades had all been drawn,
Auntie's careworn hands were gone.
Jade tried to stay there in the past,
But only memories will last.
Copyright ©2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved
Introspective, on this night,
Jade settles, drifting in her mind
To take a sentimental stroll
Through old family mementos.
Finding images that show
When she was hardly big at all,
Visiting great-great-Aunt Ro'
Who lived so very near the pier.
Wooden stairway, painted white
With rails on either side of it,
That lead up to an open porch,
Fronting by a clapboard house.
Built before the nineteen-tens,
How loud the screen door creaked back when
She came to visit with her mom
The last time that Jade saw her.
The rooms were dimly lit within,
And always kept neat as a pin.
Stretched across, she could recall
The scratchy music clearly heard,
A distant echo all alone
Coming from a paneled hall:
🎶You may not be an angel,
But still I'm sure you'll do,
So until the day that one comes along,
I'll string along with you...🎶
Polished floors & ceilings, shone,
Where seagull shadows always'd flown,
From light of windows, opened
At the back of the house, ended.
The parlor, with its faded grace,
For Jade, the very best of all,
The youthful glee upon her face,
Wide-eyed, and still so very small.
Though she was tall enough to look
Through beveled cabinets of glass,
And see the treasures on display
That laid among the leather books.
The china dolls with bee-sting lips,
And silky, finger-wave of curls,
Tiny worlds in miniature,
The clothes & doll house furniture.
Crystal perfume bottle scents,
Still holding their amber remnants
Of parties, plays & dinner dates,
Corsage, from a beau long ago.
A medal, and some ribbons too,
Laid by her dead son's baby shoes,
The one who'd worn them years before
He died; the war to end all wars.
Hand-drawn & painted souvenirs
From Rio, Rome & old Tangiers.
Then, on the roof Jade hears rain fall,
The tumbledown of thunder's squall.
Breakers soon churn up the beach,
Drowning music out of reach.
Jade can't hear it anymore,
The gulls have all flown into shore.
Once the shades had all been drawn,
Auntie's careworn hands were gone.
Jade tried to stay there in the past,
But only memories will last.
Copyright ©2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved
Anonymous
Grace
IDryad
Forum Posts: 16073
IDryad
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 25th Aug 2011Forum Posts: 16073
Grace's dreams on the Sand
drawing figures on the sand
brothers and sisters father and mother
a pretty house with lots of rooms
and a house each for the cats and dogs
flower gardens the little girl drew
and vegetable patches and orchards too
mother could sell them at the bazaar
the children could help to pick the fruits
Little Grace drew herself in
long billowing gown down to her ankle
bought with the money she collected
from the money tree by the wishing well
the tide came in and washed them all
the drawings all over the sand
sad child watched with teary eyes
her dream home wiped off by the waves
Grace went home all sad but tanned
time to fill her rumbling tummy
tomorrow she would draw again
scratching wonders on the shifting sand
Drawing her dream.
drawing figures on the sand
brothers and sisters father and mother
a pretty house with lots of rooms
and a house each for the cats and dogs
flower gardens the little girl drew
and vegetable patches and orchards too
mother could sell them at the bazaar
the children could help to pick the fruits
Little Grace drew herself in
long billowing gown down to her ankle
bought with the money she collected
from the money tree by the wishing well
the tide came in and washed them all
the drawings all over the sand
sad child watched with teary eyes
her dream home wiped off by the waves
Grace went home all sad but tanned
time to fill her rumbling tummy
tomorrow she would draw again
scratching wonders on the shifting sand
Drawing her dream.
OxyMoronicMe
G.L.
Forum Posts: 1470
G.L.
Dangerous Mind
24
Joined 15th Feb 2016Forum Posts: 1470
MARGARET
The mirror of her…
You would always see her, calm and collected.
Giving her greetings to everyone, as always.
She's a person with lots of scars;
With life's frustrations weighing her down.
Strong emotions and a brilliant mind,
At war behind her foul tongue and sour smile…
Walking off balance along rusty clothesline.
Her words seems nothing but a simple hi and pun sometimes.
But behind her jolly exterior, resides a suspended soul.
Understand her? Very few would.
She have more to offer, that maybe,
But in her character resides Parsimonious;
Embraced by a hedge full of thorns,
That pricks and bleeds her the most.
Her mind, her heart, her whole being,
Is coated with a shell so though that no mallet could ever crack.
She's a good person swimming in a bad place.
Like a chameleon, adorned with a rough skin,
Gut unaffected, malleable and still tender.
But soon, she must get out of that pond,
Before resistance sunk and froze her insides.
Between the lines If you closely see,
A limbo of emotions, simmering and ready to spill.
She doesn’t need it
– others’ approval – she said?
But people are judgmental,
And would judge her no matter what.
She still need others to be by her side.
Caught between a crossroad whose signage
Had long been unhinged and unreadable.
So she must love herself without forsaking others.
To just realize that she can be herself,
Yet be naked at the same time.
To just strip off that armor and stand proud
Wearing nothing yet have everything.
Two roads to go forward, she doesn't see the end row.
Left or Right? Fork roads be damn!
To get naked and feel like a lightweight.
To run with the wind, bake in the sun.
To be reborn, rekindle a dying vigor.
To embrace life with all its beauty and gore.
To reach out her hand for she's not alone.
She's waiting for the right brand of fire, to warm the coldness within.
Nearly there now…
©Oxy2016DUP
All Rights Reserved
(This poem is written as an entrée piece for a poetry competition-THIRD PERSON POETRY.)
The mirror of her…
You would always see her, calm and collected.
Giving her greetings to everyone, as always.
She's a person with lots of scars;
With life's frustrations weighing her down.
Strong emotions and a brilliant mind,
At war behind her foul tongue and sour smile…
Walking off balance along rusty clothesline.
Her words seems nothing but a simple hi and pun sometimes.
But behind her jolly exterior, resides a suspended soul.
Understand her? Very few would.
She have more to offer, that maybe,
But in her character resides Parsimonious;
Embraced by a hedge full of thorns,
That pricks and bleeds her the most.
Her mind, her heart, her whole being,
Is coated with a shell so though that no mallet could ever crack.
She's a good person swimming in a bad place.
Like a chameleon, adorned with a rough skin,
Gut unaffected, malleable and still tender.
But soon, she must get out of that pond,
Before resistance sunk and froze her insides.
Between the lines If you closely see,
A limbo of emotions, simmering and ready to spill.
She doesn’t need it
– others’ approval – she said?
But people are judgmental,
And would judge her no matter what.
She still need others to be by her side.
Caught between a crossroad whose signage
Had long been unhinged and unreadable.
So she must love herself without forsaking others.
To just realize that she can be herself,
Yet be naked at the same time.
To just strip off that armor and stand proud
Wearing nothing yet have everything.
Two roads to go forward, she doesn't see the end row.
Left or Right? Fork roads be damn!
To get naked and feel like a lightweight.
To run with the wind, bake in the sun.
To be reborn, rekindle a dying vigor.
To embrace life with all its beauty and gore.
To reach out her hand for she's not alone.
She's waiting for the right brand of fire, to warm the coldness within.
Nearly there now…
©Oxy2016DUP
All Rights Reserved
(This poem is written as an entrée piece for a poetry competition-THIRD PERSON POETRY.)
PleasuresOfPain
Joined 7th Mar 2012
Forum Posts: 62
Thought Provoker
Forum Posts: 62
He was never good at showing his true feelings,
No matter the situation he hid within his shame.
Torn between deep emotions and pent up rage,
Self mutilations were his pleasures within the pain.
When he was in high school was when it all started,
Amongst the other students he became the outcast.
Kids relentlessly bullied him for no particular reason,
It may have been for the acne all over his face perhaps.
Everyday after school his father argued with his mother,
He wasn't sure why but he suspected he was to blame,
When he entered the room both his parents just glared,
They called him a loser,liar,and fool before his tears came.
One day after school last week he didn't want to go home
Instead he walked to his secret hideaway behind a church,
the sun was making its way south down towards the horizon,
At the point he reached his fort in the back of an old hearse.
This was where he went to feel the pain within the inflictions,
Several razor blades are hidden within the cloth of the interior.
Upon entering the car he's eager to feel the euphoric pleasures,
Here in this one place where he cuts himself in front of a mirror.
Pleasures Of Pain.
No matter the situation he hid within his shame.
Torn between deep emotions and pent up rage,
Self mutilations were his pleasures within the pain.
When he was in high school was when it all started,
Amongst the other students he became the outcast.
Kids relentlessly bullied him for no particular reason,
It may have been for the acne all over his face perhaps.
Everyday after school his father argued with his mother,
He wasn't sure why but he suspected he was to blame,
When he entered the room both his parents just glared,
They called him a loser,liar,and fool before his tears came.
One day after school last week he didn't want to go home
Instead he walked to his secret hideaway behind a church,
the sun was making its way south down towards the horizon,
At the point he reached his fort in the back of an old hearse.
This was where he went to feel the pain within the inflictions,
Several razor blades are hidden within the cloth of the interior.
Upon entering the car he's eager to feel the euphoric pleasures,
Here in this one place where he cuts himself in front of a mirror.
Pleasures Of Pain.
russiamagda
Forum Posts: 83
Twisted Dreamer
4
Joined 20th Mar 2016 Forum Posts: 83
flicker
when morning awakes
as she does bury her face
the pillows sink and
the light flickers
petals alike eyelashes
dewdrops, as if they were
tears shiver away
and at that moment she was sure
nothing will really change
her trembling hands,
fragile as her being,
on the verge to shatter,
row down the thin laces of hair
her eyes
flicker
as a camera, attempting to
capture the light
and keep it in her eyes.
when morning awakes
as she does bury her face
the pillows sink and
the light flickers
petals alike eyelashes
dewdrops, as if they were
tears shiver away
and at that moment she was sure
nothing will really change
her trembling hands,
fragile as her being,
on the verge to shatter,
row down the thin laces of hair
her eyes
flicker
as a camera, attempting to
capture the light
and keep it in her eyes.
Panda-Paw
UrbanPoe
Joined 18th Apr 2010
Forum Posts: 46
UrbanPoe
Twisted Dreamer
Forum Posts: 46
She had the autumn in her voice,
Her laughter slightly hoarse.
A sound of crisp leaves in rejoice
Summer danced playfully in her hair,
Golden locks, always a mess.
like sunrays on a lake with flair.
You could see spring in her eyes,
Glittering and mesmerizing.
Promises of new life yet to rise.
But her body held the winter cold,
Covering her skin and bones.
A tight grip never to unfold.
Her laughter slightly hoarse.
A sound of crisp leaves in rejoice
Summer danced playfully in her hair,
Golden locks, always a mess.
like sunrays on a lake with flair.
You could see spring in her eyes,
Glittering and mesmerizing.
Promises of new life yet to rise.
But her body held the winter cold,
Covering her skin and bones.
A tight grip never to unfold.
calamitygin
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Forum Posts: 2047
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Tyrant of Words
28
Joined 22nd June 2015Forum Posts: 2047
The Cliff Dweller
Jennifer stands in her twilight of lost
She has come to this place where sun meets moon in flight
To end what little that is left of her life and frightening thoughts
She is so very tired and longs for the dawn of permanent night
With stumble steps of booze and narcotic haze
She has veiled her sun with a bottemless cost
Now cold and alone she shivers her end of days
Unrecognizable to herself in her twilight of lost
She has not known Jennifer in so very long
She has poured her true self out with every swallow
Blurred pain and memories to nothing with euphoria of pill
She had long ago understood that her numbing was making her hollow
She had not understood it would take her to gone
And now mourns herself with a !Salut! and one last harsh swill
Jennifer sinks into her twilight of lost
Starts digging her grave with shaking fingers into cold of dirt
A tug of connection with Earth brings her a surge of warmth
The last heat of suns ray finds the rose in her cheeks
From somewhere deep she finds the will to let go of some hurt
Jennifer smiles in her twilight of lost
With this bit of warmth she glimpses hope
Her shaking fingers use what's left of her will
And she smashes her poison with a mighty stroke
Jennifer pops off the lid to her precious orange bottle
And she grinds up with a rock the last of her pills
Jennifer stands up tall in her twilight of lost
She waves a goodbye to her angel sun
She knows she will suffer a while through sweaty seas of night
With troubled sleep of turn and toss
She keeps a talisman shard of glass to rub as she fights
Her long nights journey back to self has begun
Jennifer stands in her twilight of lost
She has come to this place where sun meets moon in flight
To end what little that is left of her life and frightening thoughts
She is so very tired and longs for the dawn of permanent night
With stumble steps of booze and narcotic haze
She has veiled her sun with a bottemless cost
Now cold and alone she shivers her end of days
Unrecognizable to herself in her twilight of lost
She has not known Jennifer in so very long
She has poured her true self out with every swallow
Blurred pain and memories to nothing with euphoria of pill
She had long ago understood that her numbing was making her hollow
She had not understood it would take her to gone
And now mourns herself with a !Salut! and one last harsh swill
Jennifer sinks into her twilight of lost
Starts digging her grave with shaking fingers into cold of dirt
A tug of connection with Earth brings her a surge of warmth
The last heat of suns ray finds the rose in her cheeks
From somewhere deep she finds the will to let go of some hurt
Jennifer smiles in her twilight of lost
With this bit of warmth she glimpses hope
Her shaking fingers use what's left of her will
And she smashes her poison with a mighty stroke
Jennifer pops off the lid to her precious orange bottle
And she grinds up with a rock the last of her pills
Jennifer stands up tall in her twilight of lost
She waves a goodbye to her angel sun
She knows she will suffer a while through sweaty seas of night
With troubled sleep of turn and toss
She keeps a talisman shard of glass to rub as she fights
Her long nights journey back to self has begun
calamitygin
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Forum Posts: 2047
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Tyrant of Words
28
Joined 22nd June 2015Forum Posts: 2047
WoW! I never read other entries before writing a piece for a comp...i don't want to be influenced...or not write with true voice because i dont want to show up to the party wearing the same dress lol..
But after was amazed at some of the simalarities and at the fantastic group of pieces here....
Everyone has done awesome work..
Magda...i was especially touched by yours...great poem hunny bunny....
Great comp G moon! I dont envy you your choice here....
But after was amazed at some of the simalarities and at the fantastic group of pieces here....
Everyone has done awesome work..
Magda...i was especially touched by yours...great poem hunny bunny....
Great comp G moon! I dont envy you your choice here....
russiamagda
Forum Posts: 83
Twisted Dreamer
4
Joined 20th Mar 2016 Forum Posts: 83
calamitygin said:WoW! I never read other entries before writing a piece for a comp...i don't want to be influenced...or not write with true voice because i dont want to show up to the party wearing the same dress lol..
But after was amazed at some of the simalarities and at the fantastic group of pieces here....
Everyone has done awesome work..
Magda...i was especially touched by yours...great poem hunny bunny....
Great comp G moon! I dont envy you your choice here....
Thank you... Yours was touching as well, fabulous imagery.
But after was amazed at some of the simalarities and at the fantastic group of pieces here....
Everyone has done awesome work..
Magda...i was especially touched by yours...great poem hunny bunny....
Great comp G moon! I dont envy you your choice here....
Thank you... Yours was touching as well, fabulous imagery.
calamitygin
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Forum Posts: 2047
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Tyrant of Words
28
Joined 22nd June 2015Forum Posts: 2047
Thanks sweetheart...
BrokynSyn
Joined 19th Dec 2014
Forum Posts: 19
Lost Thinker
Forum Posts: 19
Her name is Syn and that's her claim,
Her heart is broken; all that's left is her name.
She is so caught up in the writing game,
She has lost sight of life in search of fame.
What will become of this girl,
Standing fragile in this world.
She tries to stop this whirl,
the roller coaster life enough to make her hurl.
Poor little Syn burdened by hope,
Fighting day to day just to cope.
She see's no silver lining as she takes a toke,
And she writes another poem while she smokes.
Her ammo is her ink as she writes her pain,
Her failing life that brings her shame.
When something comes along that's to hard to fein,
She cuts another slit and writes again.
What has she left but words on a screen,
The voices in her head that scream.
Poetry is the only release she has on her team,
It's all BrokynSyn is and all she's ever been.
Her heart is broken; all that's left is her name.
She is so caught up in the writing game,
She has lost sight of life in search of fame.
What will become of this girl,
Standing fragile in this world.
She tries to stop this whirl,
the roller coaster life enough to make her hurl.
Poor little Syn burdened by hope,
Fighting day to day just to cope.
She see's no silver lining as she takes a toke,
And she writes another poem while she smokes.
Her ammo is her ink as she writes her pain,
Her failing life that brings her shame.
When something comes along that's to hard to fein,
She cuts another slit and writes again.
What has she left but words on a screen,
The voices in her head that scream.
Poetry is the only release she has on her team,
It's all BrokynSyn is and all she's ever been.
KrisDuh
Orene
Joined 29th Nov 2011
Forum Posts: 23
Orene
Lost Thinker
Forum Posts: 23
Well known stranger
Who would have ever fathom the idea that quiet, reserved, insecure, opinionated, lil Orene would travel down a road she never saw coming.....
Orene, what are you doing, where are you going, are you still there? Haven't you been hearing me call you.. Calling you back, back to the track. You have to recall it not that much time has past, your not that deep are you? I hope you can still hear me inside somewhere. I know you Orene sweet, kind, hopeful little moonchild can still hear me. Maybe your a little lost, especially without any direction, motivation, or drive. Remember I'm still hear waiting on you. Waiting for you to realize where it was in life you were headed.
What is it that you think your doing? Your not yourself your someone new. Someone you are feeling is the real you. This person that has been trapped somewhere deep inside. This person is you, but not still wanting to hide. Its as though i tapped into this part of myself that I was unaware existed.
I took a wrong turn, an alternate direction. Wondered down the dirt road and it seemed like perfection. It's as if it's just a dream, but it feels like the realest thing i have yet to see. Where everything seems to be more remarkably easier to comprehend. As if your walking on air and every day is pretend. Must I return or cant I have both....
To be continued...
Who would have ever fathom the idea that quiet, reserved, insecure, opinionated, lil Orene would travel down a road she never saw coming.....
Orene, what are you doing, where are you going, are you still there? Haven't you been hearing me call you.. Calling you back, back to the track. You have to recall it not that much time has past, your not that deep are you? I hope you can still hear me inside somewhere. I know you Orene sweet, kind, hopeful little moonchild can still hear me. Maybe your a little lost, especially without any direction, motivation, or drive. Remember I'm still hear waiting on you. Waiting for you to realize where it was in life you were headed.
What is it that you think your doing? Your not yourself your someone new. Someone you are feeling is the real you. This person that has been trapped somewhere deep inside. This person is you, but not still wanting to hide. Its as though i tapped into this part of myself that I was unaware existed.
I took a wrong turn, an alternate direction. Wondered down the dirt road and it seemed like perfection. It's as if it's just a dream, but it feels like the realest thing i have yet to see. Where everything seems to be more remarkably easier to comprehend. As if your walking on air and every day is pretend. Must I return or cant I have both....
To be continued...
dejure
vick
Forum Posts: 2879
vick
Dangerous Mind
29
Joined 17th Aug 2015Forum Posts: 2879
.
/...
Who?
No.... I don't
remember him.
I don't think
I know him
so hows
your.../
.
/...
Who?
No.... I don't
remember him.
I don't think
I know him
so hows
your.../
.